


Sacrifice

by Dream_Wreaver



Series: The Hidden Volumes [1]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: But that's Too Many to Tag, Character Study, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Potentially Mature Content, Read at your own discretion, Red Riding Hood Elements, Werewolves, fairy tale AU, mentions of human sacrifice, pretty much all named characters get referenced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 08:25:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13566669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/Dream_Wreaver
Summary: “My grandmother was a friend to the forest,” Nathalie explained to the confused looking beast, “And in turn the forest was a friend to her.”





	Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

> I just couldn't help myself

A long time ago, when magic still filled the world, there were creatures halfway between human and animals. Wolves, who could take the guise of humans, almost. Like any facade, there were cracks, weak links, undeniable falsities. Certain aspects that marked them unmistakably as _other_. The sharpness of their canines, that unnatural, animalistic glint in their eyes, the clothes that appeared on their body -no matter the style- always reflecting the colors of a wolf’s pelt: silver white, black, brown. When they had first appeared these creatures were feared, revered, venerated. Those who held the power to walk among man and beast without detection, truly they were powerful. Some, as with all false gods, let this ideology go to their heads. They started killing humans, men, women, children. All for the sake of power, to assert their dominance over the human race. One village on the borderland of the wilderness sought to end this reign of terror. Seven warriors, of creation, destruction, illusion, wisdom, generosity, integrity, and growth banded together against the arm of demigods and defeated them. Those that were left were fed on stories and fear.

The wolves were harmless now, for the most part anyways. Some thought it beneath them to mingle with the humans and embraced their inner beast, living in the woods as wolves from maturation onward. Others thought those wolves were barbaric for disregarding everything to live as nothing more than monsters lurking in the woods, instead embracing full lives as humans and only turning when it couldn’t be helped.

In a tiny French village -the same one the seven warriors of legend were said to have come from- the humans and the wolves lived more or less in peace under the direction of Master Fu and the seven elders that formed the Kwami council. There was the social hierarchy that came with all societies. Families like the Bourgeois and Rossis were as close to the top as non-council members could be. There was the Alpha of the local wolf packs who came to speak on their behalf if matters included them. There were poor people, poor wolves, and the class in between them. Landowners who were not quite wealthy enough to be considered la beau monde but not poor enough to be considered peons.

Nathalie Sancoeur belonged to such a family. The day began like any other. She had left with the intention of going to her grandmother’s cottage, out in the woods. Nana Sancoeur had liked her privacy, but the trek took about half a day’s walk and there were still items to be prepared, bags to pack, supplies to pick up. As soon as the sun’s rays touched the ground Nathalie had woken and washed herself in the cast iron tub housed in a separate room. It always lay waiting, but the exertion incurred by hauling the water to heat over the fire made the resulting soak so much more soothing. Too soothing, in fact, by the time she’d dried and dressed herself it was day. Hastily the maiden hurried out the door.

She ran this way and that across town, her basket on her arm, a list and pencil scrap in her hand as she checked off the things she needed to get. First had been a stop at the Kubdels, to pick up a hunting knife for protection, then it had been over to the Lahiffes to check that her shoes were in good enough condition to make the journey, the Cesaire family kept a record of when people left town and how long they expected to be gone, for the security of those left behind, and after that she had headed to the joint shop of the Couffaines and Lavillants, the resident witches.

“Is everything still in place?” Nathalie enquired to the quieter of the two, Juleka, while the other witch, Rose, flitted gaily about the shop.

“The wards are still in place, yes,” Juleka replied, “Would you like to have us redo them just in case?”

“Not today, I just wanted to make sure everything would be fine.”

“It’s understandable,” Rose chimed in, “With that house so far away in the woods, and all the feral wolves that have been lurking about lately.”

“I know,” Nathalie replied, “You can never be too careful.”

The witches nodded in sync. Bidding them farewell, Nathalie gathered up her basket and headed to the Dupain-Cheng’s boulangerie. As usual Tom and Sabine were working behind their rustic counter, putting together orders and checking stock. Nathalie knocked on the counter to get their attention.

“Ah, Miss Nathalie,” Sabine greeted, “You’re here for your order, yes?”

“Yes,” Nathalie counted out coins from a small pouch at her side, “This should be enough right?”

“Plenty,” Tom assured her as he bundled up her order to be placed in a pack.

“Oh, that reminds me, have you seen your daughter around?” Nathalie asked as she placed the pouch into her basket, “I commissioned something from her about a week or so ago? She told me it would be ready about now.”

“Marinette?” Sabine shared a self-indulgent look with her husband, “I believe she’s outside, behind the bakery. I think she’s with Adrien.”

“When isn’t she?” Nathalie rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

Adrien was a wolf, he’d been found wandering near the outskirts of the village barely bigger than a pup. The Dupain-Chengs had taken him in and from that moment on he and their daughter Marinette had been nigh inseparable. She bid them thanks and headed around back. Sure enough, Marinette and Adrien were sitting together, him lazing about in the sun while she finished some fancy stitching on a swath of blood red cloth. They heard her approach and looked up.

“Nathalie!” Adrien exclaimed happily, bounding over to meet her. Being raised with such an open and loving family had been _bound_ to wear off on him. She could practically see his ears perk perk up and his tail wagging. He was like that with everyone.

“Adrien,” she offered him a polite smile and a ruffling to his golden locks. Truly, it had been fortunate that humans had taken him in. She’d never heard of a wolf with a coat any color besides black, red, or silver surviving to adulthood. It just made them stand out too much.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Marinette said as she finished her stitch, tied and cut it loose. She gathered up the material to keep it from dragging on the ground and brought it over, “I just finished the final touch.”

The seamstress shook out the finished product. The blood red cloth became a hooded cloak with a metal clasp. Etched into the clasp, as well as embroidered along the bottom, were intricate little butterflies.

“It’s wonderful,” Nathalie said honestly, “But I didn’t ask for the embroidery.”

“I know,” Marinette replied, “I needed something to practice on though, and then I couldn’t stop. It was some old embroidery thread I had laying around. No extra charge of course.”

But Nathalie couldn’t see it that way. Their village, while not as remote as some, wasn’t exactly a hub of bustling commerce. Thread for embroidery was rare in this locale, and being rare meant it was also incredibly expensive. Nathalie hadn’t anticipated more than the construction of the cloak with the clasp, and had budgeted accordingly. But, she did have a few more coins to spare, and she never believed in weaseling out of proper payment. From her pouch she counted out the coins and handed them to the girl.

Marinette looked surprised, “But this is-”

“I received an embroidered piece, therefore I shall _pay_ for an embroidered piece.” Nathalie responded, “I am not a Bourgeois that will happily run without compensating what I owe.”

Marinette nodded, “Of course, thank you for your patronage.”

“You’re quite welcome. Now, if you will excuse me,” Nathalie said as she shrugged the cloak on and clasped it, “I have to get to my grandmother’s house.”

MLB

It was about noon when Nathalie set off, meaning that she wouldn’t get there before nightfall. Oh well, she’d had the cloak made for just such an occasion. It would provide the shade from the sun and keep her warm when the cold of the spring evening set in. Silently, Nathalie walked along, taking in the sounds of the forest that were often drowned out when traveling with company. The old adage of, “stick to the path, never stray from the path,” echoed soundly in her mind as she trod on.

The forest was normally a welcoming place. But reports of feral wolves (wolves that neither belonged to a pack nor let themselves embrace their human side) had been more and more frequent as of late. There was some sort of migration coming, and with it being spring the risk to human travelers was slowly but steadily increasing. Nathalie wasn’t worried though. It was as she was walking along this path, however, that she saw him. A figure, a man, in the short distance. He appeared lost, but when he saw her he came purposefully striding toward her.

“My apologies for interrupting,” he began, voice cold and educated, “But I’m looking for my son. Might you have seen him?”

“Son?” Nathalie stopped, surely this was a trap, but the one thing she hated was to see families separated. At the very least, she could hear him out. Though, should things get dicey… her hand silently gripped the handle of the hunting knife which she’d strapped to her belt before taking off. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I have. If you haven’t found him along this path before now it’s likely he’s been eaten by the feral wolves.”

“I seriously doubt that,” the man responded, “Though, he was just a cu- a _child_ when I last saw him. It’s been years.”

His audience noted that quick correction with an air of suspicion. A slip of the tongue was nothing unusual, but the way he’d placed such emphasis on the correct word, it was almost as if he had something to hide. It sounded almost as if he’d attempting to quickly correct himself there, she noted.He

“Years?” Nathalie raised an unimpressed brow, “And what have you been doing all this time instead of looking for him?”

“I _have_ been looking for him,” the man replied tersely, apparently his son was a sore spot, “My wife and I had had to flee our former home. She took our son and went first while I tried to hold off the attackers. We got separated, and I haven’t been able to find either since. I know that my wife would have reached out to me by now, so I can only assume she’s-” he cut himself off, “Well, you know.”

“I’m sure I do,” Nathalie responded without emotion.

“You’re from the nearby village aren’t you?” he pressed, “My son’s name is Adrien.”

“Adrien?” he couldn’t mean the same Adrien that lived with the Dupain-Chengs. The two looked nothing alike. Nathalie shrugged, “It’s a rather common name, especially in these parts.”

Closer inspection of the man revealed some interesting details. He held himself rather stiffly, as though not quite comfortable with something. A light shimmer of shadow dusted his face, as though he hadn’t had the chance to handle a razor for a couple of days. His clothes, like his hair, were an almost whitish-silver; and his eyes, while humanly blue, had a sort of animalistic glint to them, cold, calculating, predatorial. If he had ever bothered to smile (likely as not, at least not from the deep set frown lines etched into his face) Nathalie was certain she would have seen the glint of large canines. He was a wolf, through and through. A pity too, because if he didn’t frown so much he would have been breathtaking. As it was, he was still no punishment to look at.

“Then surely the last name Agreste isn’t?” he pressed, “I’m Gabriel Agreste, Adrien’s father.”

Adrien had really only been able to remember two things when he’d been found near the outskirts of the village. His name, and the fact that he was a wolf. His mother had been found the morning after, the events revealing that one of the few wolf-bigots had killed her in cold blood. Agreste, he was right, it wasn’t a common surname. But if he was so very worried about his son why hadn’t he shown up sooner? Wolves were known for their speed, strength, agility, and tenacity. If the boy really meant as much as his father claimed, it would have (it _should_ have) only been a matter of months at the most before he came to reclaim his cub.

Nathalie tilted her head, “Maybe,” she replied evasively, “Though I wonder why you think I would tell you, or what makes you think I’m even _from_ that village. For all you know, I could just be passing through.”

“And where might you be headed?”

It seems the wolf wanted to play. Alright then, she would play, “I’m on my way to my grandmother’s house. But, the village where you seem to believe your son might be is _that_ way,” she jerked a thumb over her shoulder.

“I’ve been searching this long,” Gabriel replied, “The least I can do is see that you get where you need to go safely.”

“How very generous of you,” Nathalie parried, “But I’m a big girl, I can handle myself. Besides, no one else besides me is expected there.”

“Ah yes,” he mused, “Certainly you wouldn’t want to give the old woman a heart attack.”

“You call her old, and here I thought you might be a childhood friend of hers.”

“My family prematurely grays,” he lied easily, “I can assure you I’m not nearly as old as you may think I am.”

“Be that as it may,” Nathalie started walking past him, “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“Then chat with me a while longer and we won’t be strangers anymore.”

She laughed, low and mocking, “I really have to go.”

“I’m sure your grandmother is expecting you,”

“And your son you?”

“Ha,” he let out a bitter laugh, “I doubt it. Even before we weren’t really close. His upbringing, well, our family was very much of the mind that women did the bearing and rearing.”

“Mmm,” Nathalie hummed, “While men did the siring and hunting?”

“I can’t say it’s the most forward line of thinking, but it’s worked so far.”

“I hope you find what you’re looking for Gabriel, good day,” Nathalie turned again, her cloak fluttering on the breeze.

“Wait,” he caught her by the wrist, the single word somewhere between an order and a growl, “I want to talk some more.”

“And I need to get where I’m going. And forgive me if I trust the chances to feral wolves more than I do you.”

“You said your grandmother’s house was that way, did you not?” Gabriel inclined his head at her.

“I did,” Nathalie replied measuredly.

“And you said it would be half a day’s journey to get there on foot?”

“I don’t recall saying expressly that, but yes that approximation is about right.”

“I recall passing a shortcut along my way here, it cut my journey nearly in half. I’d be more than happy to show you.”

“I think not,” Nathalie was quick to deny, “Any shortcut you might have found lies off the beaten path. Do you know how many stories there are of poor defenseless humans straying from the path only to be eaten by wolves?”

“Do you know how many of those stories are likely fabrications made to keep the populous under the status quo?”

“Be that as it may,” Nathalie allowed, “The path leads right to my grandmother’s house, I’ll not stray from it.”

“But-”

“But I’m expected to be there soon.” Nathalie cut in, “So I must be off. And I doubt you’ll be able to pass me.”

“Care to make a wager on that?” his tone was tainted with some sort of halfway suppressed sentiment, a barely hidden hunger for something. The almost animalistic growl cemented the notion of his species in her mind. Nathalie recalled it was spring, and she wondered what it was this wolf hungered for. Whatever it was, she wouldn’t make an easy meal of herself.

“What would you ask?”

“An evening, spent in your pleasant company Miss…”

“Sancoeur, Nathalie Sancoeur.”

“Miss Nathalie,” he stooped his head and placed a kiss on her hand. 

Charming, absolutely charming Nathalie mused dryly. She pulled her hand back, “Alright, you’ve set the terms, now I set the standards.”

“By all means,” he acquiesced easily. Which meant he didn’t think her a threat. A mistake he would pay for.

“First one through the door wins,” Nathalie replied, “May fortune favor the victor.”

“Most assuredly,” Gabriel replied, “To prove myself a good sport, I’ll even let you go first.”

“How chivalrous,” Nathalie curtsied in insult and took slow and languorous steps along the path, meandering all the while. As if she wasn’t taking the challenge seriously. Oh well, more to his benefit.

He waited a few beats, listening intently to the sounds of the forest. When it was clear she was far enough away he darted into the trees. The shift from man to beast was almost instantaneous. He darted through the trees, following the scent she left behind, using it to confer with the faint scent of human he’d smelled while passing by the area he was certain the cabin was located. Large silver paws ate up the ground beneath him. The trees blurred as he picked up speed effortlessly, not even panting as he went on his way. The sounds of the forest at once sharpened and muted as he focused his senses to his nose. The scent of humans, so many humans, it permeated the air like the smell of rot and decay. But this human smelled particularly enticing. He’d barely eaten since his mate had been killed. The time for a feast was long overdue.

MLB

He was there in less than an hour, perhaps even less than half. The windows were dark, the house silent. But the scent of human was strong. Surely, the old woman was there. All he needed to do was change back. The fur receded, becoming clothing and hair, the animalistic eyes grew dimmer, shrinking in size as the facial structures altered themselves. When he at last felt normal in his human skin Gabriel strode up to the door and knocked. No answer, but the scent of human activity was there. No problem, no problem at all. She wouldn’t make it here before sundown, and no doubt an old woman wouldn’t dare traverse the woods alone at night, especially not if she was expecting company. But the hours passed, the sun waned in its descent into the horizon. Nightfall was fast approaching, and neither the grandmother nor Little Red had shown themselves.

Gabriel had turned back into a wolf and was agitatedly prowling in front of the door. Suddenly, his ears pricked up. Footsteps were making their way down the path, alone. Gabriel darted into the brush and changed back. He strode back into sight just in time to see Nathalie, still by her lonesome, making her way to the cottage. He could admit to himself that he was confused, but it was replaced on the outside by an icy, and otherwise unaffected demeanor.

“A bit later than I’m sure you anticipated,”

“I suppose,” Nathalie shrugged, “But I still made it before sundown. As did you.”

“Quite plainly,” Gabriel parried, “And seeing as how I got here first, I do believe the winner of our little wager is me.”

“Ah, but I didn’t say first to arrive, now did I?” she chided, “I said first through the door.”

Out from her bodice Nathalie drew a small iron key strung on a leather cord that had been resting round her neck. She placed the key in the lock and turned the handle, the door swung open inward.

“And I _believe_ ,” Nathalie added, imitating his smug tone, “That would be me.”

He nearly sputtered, as it was a few noises of incomprehension couldn’t help but escape him. There was no grandmother to let him in. No one to answer the knock. But Little Red held what looked to be the only key in to the place. He studied her with equal parts admiration and irritation. A sly glance at him told him everything he needed to know. Still he asked,

“Where is your grandmother?”

“Dead,” she replied, “Dead and buried for years now.”

“You said this was her house,” he snarled.

“I did,” she agreed, “But I don’t recall saying she was still _alive_ , nor do I recall you _asking_.”

With a saucy sway of her hips Nathalie entered the house, crossing the threshold and winning the wager. And Gabriel saw red. He felt cheated, cheated of a meal, of a victory, of his own pride. Animal instincts clouded over rational thought and without considering the ramifications of his actions he lunged for her, intent on grasping victory from her even if it meant he had to kill her to do it.

Except, he couldn’t. He got through the doorway alright. But as he reached for her he felt a cloying, stifling sensation surround him. Like wading through water or honey, a viscous yet ultimately immobilizing agent. Along his skin, magic sizzled like water against a hot firebrand. There was a brief moment of stillness where he looked over and caught Nathalie’s eye. She seemed amused, and her smirk more than proved it. But to make up for that small eternity the following moments happened too quick to process. The magic net that had kept him from fully entering the house slingshot him back into the forest. He landed with a hard thud to his back against the trunk of a tree. Bewildered Gabriel shook his head and shook himself off. Laughter, the kind torn between mocking and genuine, reached his ears. Little Red stood just inside the doorway of the cottage, trying and failing to hide her mirth behind a hand.

“Oh,” she cooed, “Poor, poor beastie. Did you hurt yourself by not looking closely while you waited?”

A strangled growl was her response. Nathalie continued her gloating, “I didn’t think so. Which means you missed these,” she pointed at the door frame above her. It was hard to tell, especially in the fading twilight, but Gabriel could make out some symbols etched above the door to the cottage. It was a circle, likely one for protection and in its very center was the oddest symbol he’d ever seen. A flower with an eye at its center. The mark of witches.

“Y’see,” Nathalie explained, “We had these wards specially installed after Nana’s death, since I don’t get to come out here very often. Worrying about vandals and thieves and squatters you know. Those wards, which are engraved over every opening into the cottage, prevent anyone who is not invited from entering.”

“Cheat!” Gabriel growled.

“No,” Nathalie shook her head, “Clever. As in, clever girl bests an arrogant man. Now, while the magic can keep living things from entering without my permission, it can’t keep out the cold. Goodnight, Mister Agreste.”

And with that she shut the door on him. Gabriel’s pride, as both a male and a wolf, wouldn’t allow him to stand for this. Nor would it allow him to turn tail and lick his wounds in peace. The girl, foolish girl, clearly had no indication he was anything other than a man. So the man would leave, the wolf would remain. Gabriel sunk into the shadows of the waning day, and let the night, and his darker side, creep over his skin.

MLB

Nathalie merely pretended not to notice the great silver wolf that began prowling the perimeter of her cabin. Never before had she been so thankful to her Nana for leaving her only granddaughter this cottage in her will. A place of refuge, no matter how little she could get away to it, was ever so welcomed. She opened a window, and lit a fire. The spring nights could get cold, but without air it always was so dreadfully stuffy. Night had fallen by the time the fire was roaring and the air had cleared enough of the must of disuse away. Nathalie sighed with relief, taking the pin out of her hair and letting the locks cascade around her. Her red streak, a combination of a careful lemon bleach and berry dye, glimmered in the firelight. She rolled her neck and took in her surroundings. The bed was bare, as she left it stripped down when she departed (an easy sign of entry if the wards had somehow been compromised) and she set to work dragging the spread to her pallet.

She noticed the wolf sniffing around, raising on his hind legs to see inside. Well, she wasn’t surprised. His human counterpart hadn’t been too happy with the way their encounter had ended, but she had no intentions of letting him inside just yet.

The silver wolf watched, pensive, as Little Red tidied up the place: making it habitable for the next however long she planned to spend here. She seemed lost in her own thoughts, utterly wrapped up in a world he was not privy to. No matter, she would run out of food soon enough. And when she did he would be ready to feast. The glimmer of something black against the firelight caught his eye. She shook it out, carefully laying it flat on the floor as though to smooth out the wrinkles. Though it looked as though this one was more for warmth than the others, it almost seemed like a fur rug. Something familiar about the way the hairs reflected the light. He wished he could get a better look.

Nathalie looked in satisfaction as the pelt covered the boards. She knew her feet wouldn’t be torn mercilessly by the old wooden floor, but the softness was incomparable in texture, she couldn’t leave it to collect dust in the linen closet. Still, even with the window open the room felt too stuffy. Nathalie strode to the other window and opened it.

As though she’d heard his silent prayer his prey opened the cottage’s other window. Gabriel sank down to all fours and quickly padded around. By the time he’d risen to his new post he could tell he’d missed something. Still covered by the blood red cloak Nathalie was folding something up. A bundle of clothes, maybe? He couldn’t really tell, the only parts of her exposed being her face and her arms. With her hair unbound she gave off the appearance of a sacrifice, the kind the legends of old had told. The sacrifice the humans would make to the wolves in order to appease them. One for the sake of many. The only difference was that those sacrifices had been brought before the waiting beasts totally, completely, and utterly vulnerable.

But again, she proved herself a mind reader. Nathalie reached up and undid the clasp of her cloak, letting the material pool around her in a puddle of literally fabricated blood. A sacrifice, bared to the beasts. The bundle Nathalie had been folding had been the clothes she wore on her trek, and no others had been brought out as substitute.

Perhaps it was the old stories wreaking havoc on his brain, but Gabriel was suddenly salivating. Treacle threatened to overwhelm his mouth, and he licked his chops without even thinking about it. The sacrifice was here, and so was the waiting recipient. If not for the magic of the house, if only. Were it gone he would surely be feasting.

Proud and unashamed of herself Nathalie picked up the cloak and shook it out. She had just gotten it today after all, it wouldn’t reflect well on Marinette’s efforts if she just left it to crease like that. After hanging up her garment Nathalie dusted off her hands and looked around. The wolf still prowled, ready and rearing for its prey. But Nathalie was not afraid. It was only at _her_ desire would she become a morsel. But she had a greater desire in this moment, to make this proud and mighty wolf _beg_.

The human, Little Red, she acted as if she was unaware of his presence. Gabriel couldn’t tell if she cared not that a beast saw her, or if she were teasing him. As that thought came to mind he immediately cooled his ardour. His bloodlust would not have him whining and whimpering like some village _pet_ over a burnt scrap from the humans’ meal. He was a wolf, lone, strong, controlled. He hunted the best prey, and the way one hunted the best prey was to keep one’s priorities in check.

Still, though he wished he could do a bit more moving about, she was easily one of the finest prey he had stalked. She moved with lithe and unhurried grace, at home in her own flesh. A quality most beasts, human or not, did not have. The long black hair with its swarth of bright red reflected in the molten glow of the burning embers. It covered her almost as her cloak did, but with a more tantalizing view. She stretched one arm, then another. Back and forth, keeping herself in profile to his vantage point. When she was all stretched out, she descended, no- she melted to the fur. And then he realized where he recognized it from. It was a wolf’s pelt. The inner lining shed during the warmer months to help keep the beasts cool. Humans had _killed_ for these pelts before, what on earth was _she_ doing with it?

MLB

As if she hadn’t noticed. Nathalie snickered to herself. He really _was_ too obvious wasn’t he? A wolf in sheep’s clothing? Even a sheep would be more subtle than this. Still, his curiosity wasn’t unwarranted. Pelts like this one, intact from the quality of the fur to its shape were highly unusual. Though she supposed he must have thought she or one of her kin had slaughtered a wolf to get it. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

“My grandmother was a friend to the forest,” Nathalie explained to the confused looking beast, sprawling along the pelt and luxuriating in the softness of the fur beneath her. Languorously stretching and curling and undulating against the material, her eyes glimmered with unspoken sentiment, unmentioned promise, “And in turn the forest was a friend to her.”

Gabriel shook his head. She’d noticed him there. Well, a large silver wolf at the window, he supposed that _was_ a little odd regardless. But she had figured him for intelligent? Capable of cognizant thought? Had she made the connection? She was clever yes, but cleverness did not necessarily go hand in hand with intelligence. Nathalie met his eyes, and he _knew_ . He knew, she knew. But she did not start, she did not rush to cover herself. She knew what he was and who held the power, and she _reveled_ in it. Pride be damned Gabriel wanted to storm off, prowl the woods for whatever rations could be had, but the chit had him under some sort of spell. She had to’ve, why else would he remain unmoving? A voice inside him rumbled with hunger.

Uncaring of his own internal struggle Nathalie embraced the sensuality of being completely untouchable, all-powerful. She stretched, arching her back up off the pelt only to let out a soft sigh as the cold skin once again made contact with the wollen hairs. She wet her lips with her tongue and continued her story. Beg doggie, beg

“‘Embrace the forest my child,’ she would tell me, ‘Embrace the forest, but do not underestimate it. For the forest holds more power in a single tree root than humans have amassed in their collective existence. Yield to the power of the forest, and you will never need to fear it.’”

Nathalie seemed almost entranced now, as if something that wasn’t her had taken hold of her body, “My family, they moved, they left the forest. Strove for civilization and human contact. They have forgotten, but not me. My father chafed at this tiny house, but I _loved_ it. I thrived, toeing the line between civil and feral, man and beast, predator and prey. Nana taught me all I needed to know, and said that one day the forest would call to me, and I would know what to do.”

She turned on her side, propping her head up in one hand and running the other down the length of her body as far as she could reach, “And now forest,” she continued, voice low and husky, addressing him directly as she looked him right in the eyes, “Shall I yield to you?”

MLB

This was torture. This was torture and he had to have died. He had died and this was his eternal torment. He never should have been so lackluster in his search for his remaining family and now he was paying dearly for it. A whine escaped his throat before he could even help it. And because he wasn’t human right now, he couldn't even slap his hands over the orifice to muffle the sound. High pitched, keening, she heard it loud and clear. And she smirked. Submission at last.

“Such a beautiful wolf, surely the best the forest could offer.” she murmured, blinking slowly. Her lashes cast deep shadows in the hollows of her eyes, fanning down onto her cheeks. Bathed in light of the fire, dressed only in her hair and the pelt beneath her, she almost didn’t look real, “You are welcome here,”

The latch clicked, the door opened. Gabriel dropped from the window and padded over to the open door. For a moment he simply stood there, on the precipice, the point of no return. He didn’t turn back, to a man or to the forest. He stood there, staring. With the curl of a hand she beckoned him inside. Come into my web, says the spider to the fly. He took a step in.

“My,” she gasped, “What big ears you have,”

The complimented extremities flicked themselves back and forth, taking in the shallow sound of her breathing. He stepped closer. The door slammed shut behind him.

“My,” she breathed, gaze luminous, “What big eyes you have,”

They focused in on her prone form as she lay there. They tracked the shivers wracking her frame, due to cold, or perhaps excitement, but not fear. He smelled not a hint of fear on her, what he did smell was anticipation. He stepped even closer.

“My,” she sighed, a hand reaching out and stroking along one of his flanks, “What soft fur you have.”

He bared his teeth at her, growling lowly. He did not move, and her hand fell away. She seemed in awe for a moment.

“My,” she smiled, eyes hooded and voice as hot as the fire roaring behind him, “What big _teeth_ you have.”

Gabriel hunkered back, behind in the air, forepaws stretched out before him. Every muscle was tense ready to rear. His nostrils flared, his teeth grit. He was a bowstring pulled taut. One more press and he would _snap_.

Nathalie was too brash for her own good. She curled her fingers, and bared her throat in submission, one word falling out of her mouth, “ _Come_.”

He lost all sense of place and belonging, and _lunged_. Unlike the last time there was no magic holding him back, pushing him back. She had allowed this, of her own volition. And he had surrendered everything. Man or beast? Wolf or human? Lover or killer? He couldn’t tell anymore. The sounds she made, were they screams of terror or keens of delight? Was the sweet nectar on his tongue blood or something else? Noises filled the space of the cottage, slipping out the open windows and into the forest. A sacrifice taken, a feast eaten, a beast satiated. On and on it seemed to rage. Until it didn’t. In the dusky dew of a new dawn the forest was still. Quiet. Content.

The oldest stories of Little Red Riding Hood ended with the wolf devouring Little Red. As the first radiant rays fell in the window, shining on the dying embers of a burnt out fire, casting shadows from the prone forms that lie amongst pelts and blankets. A man and a woman, bruised and battered and utterly spent. His arms curled protectively over her, silvery hair messy and askew and mingling with the inky locks that spilled out across the floor. They slept soundly, worn out by their exertions. Little Red was gone, and this time there would be no Woodsman coming to save her. Because Little Red had lain with the wolf, and she would do so again, and again, and _again_.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Let me know and leave a comment below. Until next time


End file.
